Let Me Be
by Lady Ayme
Summary: After another fight between the two France has had enough and decides to intervene. Will England and America be able to work out their problems?
1. Chapter 1

Let Me Be

Something inspired by a recent episode of _Memphis Beat _that wouldn't leave me alone, and something to post while I continue to combat writer's block on 'At the Core.' I don't know if this has been done before, and this isn't beta'd. If any lyrics end up being incorrect, feel free to let me know.

Characters and songs aren't mine.

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><p>"America, America... Really... This is just too painful to watch anymore." France shook his head slightly with a hand held to his forehead in one of his usual overly-dramatic gestures.<p>

America paused in angrily stuffing some of his files for the current meeting into his attache case and gave the older blond a confused look. "What are you talking about?"

"As much as I _love _to rile up England as much as you do-"

"I don't love anything that has to do with that grumpy old jerk!"

France smirked to himself but continued on. "As fun as it is it can be rather annoying too, especially when it just drags these meetings on for longer than necessary. Not to mention even less gets done than usual."

The younger man turned back to his papers and such with one of his more common petulant faces in place again. "Yeah, well, if people would just listen to my awesome ideas, especially England, then we wouldn't have to have these long, boring meetings so often. I mean my idea to pour liquid nitrogen into the polar oceans to help keep the ice caps from melting was a _great _idea!"

France coughed into his fist and tried to lead the conversation away from where it was going. "Yes, well, be that as it may-"

"And then England had to be all, 'REJECTED!'" and he mimicked the island nation's thumbs-down method of denial and a very poor excuse for the man's accent, "and called it a stupid idea that would cost too much money, and aren't I still dealing with the recession, and it's not like it's all that easy to get _that _much liquid nitrogen anyway-"

"America..."

"And it's not like we were getting anywhere anyway! These meetings are so stupid. When do we really ever get anything done? I mean, like I said, if people would just listen to my ideas, then maybe we could get something done, but everything always ends up in a fight, and nothing ever gets done. I could have been playing games with Japan or Tony or something instead of wasting my time here. I bet England would just be holed up in his house reading a stupid book or gardening or knitting or something like the old man he his."

France raised an eyebrow at the younger man's rant and was growing increasingly glad that they were the only ones left in the conference room. "America."

"He's _always _making fun of my ideas or just rejecting them out-right! And then he acts all nice when talking with like...Germany or Japan about...alternate fuel sources or something!" His hands shot out to his sides before falling back down. "It's not like I'm not trying that too! I mean, we're starting to come out with more electric and hybrid cars for one thing! And did you know it actually doesn't take all that much to convert an engine into being able to run on stuff like used cooking oil? Although I'm still not sure about the long-term effects it would have on an engine..."

France now had both brows raised, intrigued by the honest and intelligent turn that the other man's rant had taken, but he wanted to get back to his original intent for having stayed behind to talk to the younger blond.

The meeting that day had started off like any other and continued on like any other with the usual talks about the economy and environment and such with little actually getting done. When America – who was overseeing this time since they were in New York City – shared another one of his, like usual, ridiculous ideas during the afternoon portion of the meeting his suggestion was, also like usual, rejected by England, and it had all devolved into another one of their verbal fights from there. France found it all amusing of course, but they really were holding up the meeting. Everyone was dismissed for the day nearly an hour after the scheduled time, and they hadn't even finished with the day's agenda.

The European nation decided to just get straight to his point. "America..., why are you so focused on _England _than say..., well..., _anyone _else really? His rejection in specific in this case. Most people agree with how hair-brained your ideas are most of the time, but I only ever see you really react when _he _rejects them."

America had paused in gathering his things but then started back up again. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not...'focused' on him or whatever. Your old-man brain must be making things up. I mean you're older than England right? So it's to be expected I guess."

"And again you mention England..."

The young superpower stopped again with his hand almost around his empty coffee cup and seemed a little in shock.

"As I've mentioned before, while it's still entertaining to watch you two bicker like an old married couple," and he nearly laughed at the look that earned, "for the most part it _did _get old a few decades ago. When are you two going to stop dancing around the real problem?"

America fiddled with the empty cup. "Wha-what problem?"

France merely crossed his arms and gave him a Look.

The other blond kept playing with his cup, trying to avoid the self-proclaimed Country of Love for as long as possible (He had a pretty good idea where this was conversation was going...), but he eventually started fidgeting again, and his nervousness and frustration finally got the better of him. "Fine! Okay? I know very well what the 'problem' is, but it's not like that matters! It's obvious he hates me, and nothing's going to change that! Even when I _try _to be nice he either takes it entirely the wrong way or I manage to mess it up myself somehow and only make things _worse_!" The paper cup was crushed in his hand. "It's...it's not like I _want _him to hate me! I... I just can't seem to do anything right..." At the end of his rant his body deflated rather like a balloon.

France sighed, but he was pleased that at least _this _part looked like it was going to be easy enough. With how pig-headed America could be he'd thought dragging a confession out of him was going to possibly be one of the harder parts in all of this. He put a hand on America's shoulder and was glad when it wasn't shrugged off. "Well, that is what I wanted to talk to you about."

America looked at him with another confused look on his face. "What do you mean?"

France removed his hand and flipped his hair over his shoulder in another of his over-used and overly-dramatic gestures before smiling at the younger man. "I am here to help you see that it is not a lost cause."

The confused look deepened. "What...?"

_'Really... Is it denial or his thick-headedness...?'_ "I am here to help you win England's... Well, I wouldn't say _fair_, but...," and he had to keep himself from laughing by clearing his throat before continuing, "I am here to help you win England's heart. All things considered I don't think it will be as hard as you think it is."

America's confused look had turned into a very unsure but oh-so-slightly hopeful one, one that France wasn't used to seeing on the other's face but wasn't really all that surprised to see nonetheless. He stayed quiet as the frustrated younger man before him seemed to become lost in thought as he stared down at the conference table, though he was about to speak up again after a long moment of silence.

In a quiet and doubt-filled voice America beat him to it. "You...you don't think it's a lost cause?"

France offered him a small, honest smile. "No. He's the most stubborn man I've ever known and is very good at hiding how he truly feels behind all of that anger of his, but looking at it from a third party point of view... It's rather obvious that he still cares about you, you know."

America blinked at him with a blank look on his face before it broke out into a soft but still hesitant smile. "You think so? I just...get so caught up in our fights I guess I never notice. I...I don't know..." He went to rub the back of his head but realized the crushed coffee cup was still in his hand and tossed it away in the nearby can. "'Still cares...' That's another thing though, France. He might still care about me, but what if it's only like a little brother?"

The elder man's eye twitched a bit in annoyance. He didn't want to deal with this potential part of the problem just yet. "Now don't start that up. You have no idea if that's part of it or not, so there's no real use in getting worked up over it. It will be something we may have to address later on, but for now we need to make him realize that you honestly don't actually hate each other."

America finished gathering the rest of his things and closed his case. He still seemed to not be one hundred percent sure about this, but his usual enthusiasm and energy were resurfacing. "Well..., what do you suggest?"

France placed an arm around the younger man's shoulders and steered him towards the doors. "I thought we could start by just talking and looking at some pictures."

Knowing the other, America wondered what he'd just signed up for.

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><p>"I don't understand why you insisted on somewhere different. This place is rather crowded too. What's wrong with the usual pub we end up drinking at when stuck in this accursed city?"<p>

The place was somewhat small and looked rather old, but it still had a rather inviting atmosphere. After the last three days of meetings however England really just wanted to crash at the usual bar they chose that served some good drinks despite being an American establishment. Though, if he thought about it, today's and yesterday's meetings hadn't been too bad, at least when compared to the usual, including how the first day had gone. There hadn't been any fights really other than one concerning the Italy brothers and those odd curls of theirs and another between Poland and Russia over Lithuania. They had even been dismissed early today by nearly two hours since they had actually been able to discuss everything on the day's agenda. '_Even that insufferable America and the frog have been sort of...well-behaved._' Really, the days had just been rather...odd. He didn't know what to make of it, which was just making his headache and a sense of unease that was building up inside of him worse.

France almost rolled his eyes at the other man's usual annoyance. "I merely thought a little change of pace wouldn't hurt, and, look, they even have a stage for some live entertainment."

The easily irritated Englishman scoffed. "Wonderful... I get to listen to two-bit American idiots who are likely tone-deaf, can't play a proper chord to save their souls, or think they're the funniest person on the planet while dealing with alcohol that likely tastes more like piss than anything worthy of consuming."

The older man tutted. "Good heavens, what has you in such a poor mood? Though...I suppose this isn't too unusual for you. If I didn't know any better, I would think you prefer being miserable..."

England turned to him and nearly bristled like an angry cat. "What is _that _supposed to mean, yo-!"

"AH! An open table near the stage. Let us go and have a seat and order something to drink." France then proceeded to drag the still protesting Englishman over to one of the small round tables near the little stage near the bar.

England reluctantly plopped down in one of the seats. A waitress soon came over to them, and they ordered a couple of beers to start with. The younger man leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest after she dropped off a bottle for each of them. "You know I would have preferred sitting at the bar. Sitting over here means having to wait for the waitress to bring our drinks instead of just having the bartender refill them right away."

France waved him off as he took a sip from his bottle. "I don't think it matters all that much. You'll still get your drinks. Try and relax. That's why we're here isn't it?"

England grumbled as he took a drink of his own beer, but his posture did loosen up just the slightest bit.

The other blond hid a knowing smirk behind his hand as he leaned on one elbow. "Besides... I don't think you'll want to get too drunk..."

About to ask why when that was basically the only reason he was even there in the first place, one of the waiters chose that moment to walk onto the stage with a microphone stand, efficiently derailing England's train of thought and gaining his and most of the other patrons' attention. The waiter then brought over a stool before leaning towards the microphone. "We have a regular joining us here tonight, folks. Everyone... Alfred F. Jones!" He lowered the mic a bit before stepping away from it. Quite a bit of the audience clapped and cheered while the lights dimmed over everything but the stage. England didn't know what to think, so he sat there with his arms crossed and an expression battling between confused, intrigued, and exasperated. France somewhat wondered how that worked but just settled on feeling pleased that he was paying attention to the stage.

America walked out from behind the small curtain hiding the entrance to the backstage area with an acoustic guitar strapped to his chest, though he still supported it with both hands. He headed over to the stool and sat down on it, fiddling a little with the microphone before clearing his throat. "Um... Good evening, everybody. I only have one song I'd like to perform tonight, and it's sort of meant for someone...special..." He looked right at England for a short moment before settling in and preparing to play.

England was now more shocked than anything, though the confusion and intrigue in his expression were still there too. When America started strumming away on the guitar, the still stunned blond thought he recognized the tune but wondered if he was mistaken or if the younger man was just playing it slower and softer than he was used to.

America closed his eyes and leaned a little more towards the mic before starting to sing.

"Baby, let me be

Your lovin' teddy bear.

Put a chain around my neck,

And lead me anywhere.

Oh, let me be

Your teddy bear.

"I don't wanna be a tiger,

'Cause tigers play too rough.

I don't wanna be a lion,

'Cause lions ain't the kind

You love enough.

"Just wanna be your teddy bear.

Put a chain around my neck,

And lead me anywhere.

Oh, let me be

Your teddy bear.

"Baby, let me be around you every night.

Run your fingers through my hair,

And cuddle me real tight.

Oh, let me be

Your teddy bear.

"I don't wanna be a tiger,

'Cause tigers play too rough.

I don't wanna be a lion,

'Cause lions ain't the kind

You love enough.

"Just wanna be your teddy bear.

Put a chain around my neck,

And lead me anywhere.

Oh, let me be

Your teddy bear.

"Oh, let me be

Your teddy bear.

I just wanna be your teddy bear."

When he was done singing America stood up a little too quickly and bowed a little too stiffly before almost power walking off of the stage while the audience applauded his performance.

Normally, whenever England heard the younger man sing, his voice would grate on his nerves as America would usually butcher whatever he was singing by acting like the complete ham he was, but for this... His voice had taken on the lower pitch it carries when he's being completely serious about something, so it actually went rather well with the tone he chose to play the song in.

England very much still didn't know what to think.

'_What...what was_ that...?'

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><p>The lack of America-Elvis stuff is sort of disappointing. Maybe I'll be helping a little in rectifying that with this? Who knows.<p>

This is turning out longer than I had planned – originally three or four scenes and then the ending – but..._oh well_. I don't know when updates will be either. I can be on a roll and come out with something in an hour or two like this much (I've been sitting on this and the ending for a while but just decided to go ahead and break it up and post this much. I had originally intended for this to be a one-shot.) but then I'll hit writer's block for months at a time like on 'At the Core.' -headdesk-


	2. Chapter 2

Wow, school's still an impressive motivation and inspiration killer. I've spent so long see-sawing between "I have the motivation but no inspiration to work on stuff" and "I have the inspiration but no motivation to work on stuff" that I've had the urge to hit my head against something hard more than a few times out of frustration. Finally managed to start pushing my way back through some WIP's though.

Characters and songs used aren't mine. This isn't beta'd.

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><p>France swirled his half-empty bottle as he watched America nearly run off of the stage and forced himself not to facepalm. He had figured that with the little amount of time they'd had to talk about things and to plan this that the boy might be nervous, but he hadn't expected him to <em>run away<em> like that. Though he supposed that it was only inevitable really with as long as the two idiots had prolonged the matter. All of the decades – centuries really – of pent up emotions and waiting so long to confess that failure seemed likely... He really should have pressed the matter sooner probably.

England was still staring at the stage with his mouth hanging open ever so slightly and his eyes wide and unblinking. He only came out of his shock-induced stupor when France tapped him lightly on the arm with his beer bottle.

Trying to act nonchalant if a little surprised himself, France asked, "Well..., that was certainly something else, hmm?"

The island nation blinked and turned slowly to the other blond. "Wha-what?"

France raised one brow and was mentally cheering at seeing the self-proclaimed gentleman knocked so off-kilter and speechless. "Dear America's performance. I do believe he meant to sing it for _you_. Though I do wonder why he chose _that_ particular song..." He let the comment trail off and took a sip from his bottle.

England was quickly recovering and delving back into his usual frustration and anger, though there was a rather hysterical side to it too that France wasn't really expecting but hoped was the alcohol's fault, even if he hadn't had even a full bottle yet. "Wha-what do you mean it was for _me_? ? Why would he ever sing anything like that for _me_? ? If anything he might sing...sing... I don't know! 'Viva la Vida' or something to cram it in my face that I'm nothing but an old, washed-up has-been! Or what was it...? 'Since You've Been Gone?' To show how happy he is without me!"

Though he probably shouldn't have been France was still surprised by the sudden outburst, and a part of him was glad that England had only drunk less than a bottle so far. He _really really_ did _not_ want to know what his reaction would have been like if he was actually drunk (though he had to wonder if the song would have registered at all to England then, which might have been an improvement over the current situation). Either way the younger man's yelling was quickly drawing attention the Frenchman didn't really want, so he quickly threw some money on the table and grabbed England's arm to pull him out of the bar.

England continued to protest and try and free himself from the other man's hold on his arm even once they were back outside. "Let go of me, you damn bearded bastard! If this was your doing in any way, I _swear_ I'll–!" France released him once they reached the small parking lot along the side of the building and turned to face him so suddenly and with such a serious expression England was forced to stop mid-sentence.

France sighed in mostly frustration. "I should have realized I would be the one to have to talk with you about this first." He ran a hand through his hair in irritation.

They really should have spent more than just the two evenings after the meetings let out discussing this, but after France had talked with him for awhile and showed him some pictures of England the young superpower had never seen before America had been persistent that he knew a great way to confess. One picture in particular had piqued his interest. He told the older blond to bring England to this bar after the meeting today and had seemed so sure about things that France had let the matter slide. Now the boy had run off before the two English-speaking nations could even talk about his "confession."

"If you must know, yes, I had a part in this, BUT–" he raised his voice and waved his hand to cut off England's interruption, "it needed to be done. This has been put off for far too long, and, really, the rest of us are growing a bit tired of it. Don't give me that look." He managed to cut off the younger man again. "You two have been avoiding this for years. Look...," and he sighed again but mostly in an exhausted kind of way, "I'm not going to go on and on about why you two are meant to be together despite everything. I'm hardly expecting you to openly accept that he likes you like that right off either. Just take some time to think about it. We'll still be in town for the rest of the week, and this has been going on for so long that there isn't really a need to rush things. Just...think about it, England. I know you're going to doubt it all no matter what signs there are. It's just a part of who you are. You're hardly one to trust people, and I know I'm likely a big part of the reason why and you probably don't even trust me now, but just talk to him about this?"

England was nearly drowning in his confusion and doubt and the small bit of hope that he'd kept such a tight hold onto for so long that he just didn't know what to say anymore.

* * *

><p>"I'm so stupid, stupid, <em>stupid<em>! What was I _thinking_? ! I know people call me reckless and impulsive, but that was just– GAH!" America pulled at his hair in mortification and embarrassment as he made his way back to the little dressing room/storage room area he'd been given to practice in before going out on stage. He nearly slammed the door behind him as he flopped down into a chair and put his head in his hands after setting his guitar down. "I'll never be able to be in the same room as him again, let alone look him in the eye!"

"America..., I think you're overreacting..."

"GYAAA! Who–? !" America whipped his head and fists up at the new voice in a defensive reflex, though he let them drop seconds later. "Oh, it's you, bro. Don't do that!" He sighed and ran his hands through his hair again, though this time more to try and fix it, as he watched Canada walk over to him and hand him a bottle of water. "And what do you mean 'overreacting?' I don't know what I was thinking doing this! Why did I even listen to France in the first place?" He slumped down in his chair again.

Canada sat down in a nearby chair and leaned forward with his forearms resting on his thighs to try and get a better look at his twin's face without it being too obvious. "I know you're worried about England's reaction, but you didn't even stay long enough to _see_ how he'd react. You ran off seconds after you finished playing. I wouldn't go jumping to conclusions until you two actually...you know..._talk_ about it."

America's expression turned a bit pouty though still worried. "I didn't 'run off.' I just... I should have done this differently, I just know it. I mean... At the time it seemed like this really awesome, really romantic way to confess, like out of a movie, but... I should have...I don't know...done it more privately? England doesn't like big...showy things."

Canada lightly hit his brother's arm to better grab his attention. "I think this was a good way, since it's just like you to come up with a plan like this. Doing it your own way shows more authenticity, more honesty, with your feelings than listening to other people and going with what they say."

"But England–"

"Will likely see it that way too...once he gets over the shock and through his denial. It's true England likes to keep important things more private, but that's one of the best things about you two. He can help keep you grounded and level-headed – when you two aren't fighting anyway... – and you can help him open up more. You two can help each other be more honest too."

Canada chuckled and gave his brother an amused smile. "The two of you are such sappy romantics. I can only imagine what things will be like once the two of you get over this hurdle."

America was looking at his brother with an expression of awe and confusion. "How do you even _know_ all of this?"

"Maybe because I actually _listen_ to people." He snatched up America's water bottle, leaned back in his seat, and took a sip. "Plus, being forgotten so much makes it really easy to watch people without them bothering to notice."

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><p>Thursday's meeting was a bit tense, and everyone could feel it, though most couldn't really pinpoint the cause. It was true America and England in particular were being rather quiet, which was odd in and of itself, but the past two days had already been building up an odd atmosphere, so no one could really say if it was just those two causing it or not. France had also been silent in his own way, but many could tell it was of a more contemplative sort than the awkwardness that had settled around everyone else. By the end of the day even Germany, who was immensely pleased that they had actually managed to work through most of the agenda again (Three days in a row of unheard of progress. What was going on, and did he really want it to continue?), was thankful to be able to escape from the almost suffocating conference room.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Might as well go ahead and post the rest. This still isn't beta'd.

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><p><em>He didn't know how it had ended up like this. A confrontation with England was inevitable really (though he hadn't thought it would be in his apartment), but America had hoped that it wouldn't go <em>this _badly. Things had been going all right, especially compared to how he thought they'd go, until he'd mentioned France was the one to start everything and that the elder blond was the one to get him to (finally) agree to confess. Somehow it had reached the point that they weren't even talking (yelling really) about his confession anymore but rather the Frenchman and his part in...everything, especially his Revolution. _

_England was pacing in front of him, barely able to look at him and looking like he wanted to stick his fist through something. "Did it ever occur to you that you were nothing but a pawn to him? A naive little boy who could be manipulated in his greatest act of revenge against me yet. How much did you even see him in the next ten, twenty, fifty years? Then he gives you that rust-covered woman in that harbor as another slight against me."_

_America was at a loss. He knew England had issues with people, especially France and himself, but he'd never really seen him like _this_. "Wait just a minute! Aren't you just being paranoid or something? ? I know you two have had your differences, but that's too much. He wouldn't have done _those _things just to get back at you."_

_England cringed and looked back at him with an expression America couldn't quite place. "Oh? And how well do you actually know him, America? How much time outside of meetings and battles have you spent with him?"_

"_W-well..."_

_The older blond looked an odd mix of smug and disgusted now. "Exactly. I don't know why you even listen to him. He has _no _redeeming qualities whatsoever. What made you think this..._confession _was even a smart idea in the first place? Because _he _said so? He's likely just using you for his own amusement..._again_."_

_America didn't even care so much that England was saying such things about France – England badmouthing the Frenchman was one of the most normal things about him – but he was _not _going to have his confession tossed aside like this. "It's true I needed the push he gave me to finally confess, but don't just ignore me and my feelings! I _really do like you_, England! Why are you acting like this? ? Why can't you just believe that I like you? ?"_

_England looked as if he still wanted to punch something but also like he was about to cry. "You want to know why? ? _Everyone _I have ever tried to care about – actually let myself open up to – has betrayed me in one way or another! I thought you might be different! I had never cared for anyone like I did for you, and you went and joined the long line of _backstabbers_!"_

"_But it's not like I'm lying or going to betray you!"_

"_Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me? ? _YOU _of all people have _NO _right to say that!"_

"_But–!"_

"_Get out!"_

"_But, England, I–!"_

"_GET _OUT_!"_

"_This is _my _house!"_

_England looked confused for a moment before collecting himself enough to remember where he was. He still felt very overwhelmed and lost and angry, and he didn't want to continue this conversation._

_America watched him run out of the room, out of his apartment, still not knowing how it had ended up like this. The only thing stopping him from running after England was an irritating, incessant buzzing echoing in his head._

_When he flung his arm out to stop his alarm clock the young superpower realized the confrontation, the fight, had all been a bad dream. He'd dreamt of what it would be like to confess to England before, but it had been awhile. His performance at the bar seemed to have brought such dreams (and nightmares) back. The ones he could remember really went all sorts of different ways, but this one had probably been the worst or at least one of the worst. _

_Dream or not, it didn't bode well for Thursday's meeting._

* * *

><p>America didn't particularly feel like talking to anyone outside of the meeting just yet or going out anywhere after the conference let out late Thursday afternoon, so he headed back to his apartment in the city. He tried to play some video games to try and keep his mind off of things, but he could feel an antsy sort of pent up energy leaving him too restless to sit still for long enough to enjoy playing them. Still not feeling like going out anywhere at the moment, he decided to at least use the energy for something productive and clean up the apartment a bit.<p>

He started up one of his playlists, and it started playing over the speakers spread around his living room as he gathered up some cleaning supplies. When he'd finished the kitchen counters and floor and started dusting a certain song started up, and he couldn't help but sing along as it hit a sore spot and seemed a bit fitting to him given his current situation.

"Well, since my baby left me, I found a new place to dwell. It's down at the end of Lonely Street at Heartbreak Hotel." He sung into his duster like a microphone and swung his hips as he got into the song.

"Lonely, huh?"

"GYAAA!" America jumped back away from the unexpected voice, managing to trip against the nearby sidetable and knock over the impressive stack of video game cases resting upon it. "Wha-what are you doing here? ? How did you get in? ?"

England stood in the doorway of the living room with his arms crossed over his chest and a half-serious, half-amused expression on his face. "That doesn't really matter. Why are you acting all melancholic? Need I remind you _you're_ the one who left _me_."

The duster almost snapped in America's grip as he cringed. _'No. No! Not this again!' _It wasn't helping that this was already playing out too much like his dream the night before either.

"You ran out of the bar before I could say anything."

America blinked as his thoughts faltered at the unexpected comment. _'Oh...' _"Oh..."

England sighed and stepped forward, stooping down to start picking up the fallen video game cases. After spending all of the previous night – save for the few hours of restless sleep he'd managed to catch – thinking about...everything he still had so many things to say, to ask. Unable to concentrate during the meeting, he had thought about what he wanted to say and what he was hoping to avoid. Already he had a feeling things were going to be rocky at best. _'Watch what you say. Watch what you say..._' "We...need to talk about yesterday..." '_Letting him start is risky, but I need him to explain himself to even have any idea where to start myself.'_

The younger man fiddled with his duster before quickly and awkwardly kneeling down to help pick up the fallen cases, pausing when England mentioned the previous evening. "What...what about yesterday?" That earned him an annoyed look that clearly meant, "_You know very well_ what," and he gathered the last few cases so they could set them all back down on the sidetable. "Okay... Okay... I know what."

He didn't know what to do with his hands now, so he ended up fidgeting with them while trying to come up with how to say what he wanted. He had thought about what to say to the Englishman several times over even before France had persuaded him to finally tell England how he really felt, but he had planned on being the one to start the conversation; he hadn't expected England to show up at his apartment like this (again he was reminded of his dream, which wasn't helping his nerves). "Well..., the idea came to me after France came up to me Monday after the meeting ended. We got to talking about how you and I fight so much and that it's obvious that we don't really mean it and that we should just, you know, move past it, but I told him I don't know how and that it's not like I _mean_ to fight with you and that I _really do like you_, England, and I don't know how or why we always end up having arguments. I mean even when I'm trying to be nice or do something for you or something you either take it the wrong way or somehow I mess up or say the wrong thing, and just–"

"America!" England's mind was already reeling trying to make sense of the rush of words coming out of the younger man's mouth. Normally he could make sense of America's rants when he was speaking a mile a minute, but this was a bit much, and the topic wasn't really helping. "Please, take a breath and calm down. I can't make out half of what you're rambling on about."

America took a deep breath and let it back out before running a hand though his hair and motioning for them to sit down, England taking one end of the couch while he took the other. "S-sorry... Well..., Monday after the meeting France came up to me, and we got to talking. About how we fight so much and stuff. I've...known for awhile that...I really do like you a lot, England, and he kept on me until I finally admitted it out loud to him. We talked for awhile and shared stories and pictures. One in particular gave me an idea about how to try and confess, so I had him agree to bring you to that bar. It's one of my favorite places to go here in New York. It's a little family-run place that's been passed down the family for a few generations now. I perform sometimes when I'm there. The family knows who I really am – kind of hard to go there at least once or twice a month for decades without looking suspicious since I don't exactly age – though the few usuals who might recognize me just know me as Alfred F. Jones."

England in a way was glad the only thing he could tell he was feeling right now was awkward. With as many times as he had thought about situations like this one happening (even if he'd never thought it would _actually _ever happen) he had feared that their complicated past would make this so much more difficult. Thinking about it, he supposed that, in a way, it might have probably been for the best that they had waited this long. For the past few decades he had finally been getting better about accepting things that had happened in the past – he had even been able to start going to America's birthday party each year...even if he _did_ still feel sick and cough up blood at that time of year... – but trying to accept America's feelings before then... He wasn't sure how they would have fared. Still... Even though he was thankful that he only felt awkward, that awkwardness wasn't exactly making this conversation any easier. The first thing to come to him to say after all of that was, "I didn't know you played the acoustic guitar."

America wasn't sure how to take that as the first thing England had to say in response, but he chuckled lightly anyway. "Yeah, I learned a while ago. Some around the time of my Wild West days, but more around the time Elvis became popular."

England was the one fiddling with his fingers now. "You...play very well...for as little as I've heard anyway. Maybe...you could play more later?"

America looked over at him with a small smile curling the corners of his mouth. "Thanks, and sure. Anytime. You, um..., could even maybe come to the bar with me sometime?"

The older man looked back up at him with his own soft smile. "I'd like that."

Really, America had expected _much _more yelling (or even just _any _yelling), but he was _totally_ okay with how things were going, even if it _was_ rather awkward and made him think of a couple of teenagers confessing to their first crush. When he thought about that he couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous but rather accurate it was, at least for him.

England blinked at him and slapped him lightly on the arm. "Oi. What's so funny?"

America leaned back more comfortably against the back of the couch, turning his body more towards the other man's. There was laughter in his voice. "It's just... It feels like we're some teenage couple talking to their mutual-though-neither-knows-it crush for the first time in some cheesy afterschool special."

England lightly crossed his arms over his chest again as he took a similar position on the other end of the couch, laughter in his voice as well. "Yes, well..., it _does _seem rather awkward, doesn't it? I was just thinking about that myself." He leaned his head back against the couch and looked up at the ceiling in thought for a moment. "While I'm glad we're not arguing, it makes me think that...maybe it's a good thing it's taken us this long to finally do..._this_." He waved his hand in a vague gesture, but one he knew they both understood. "I'll probably always be someone who can easily fall into thoughts dwelling on the past," he looked back over at America with a searching, if unsure but hopeful, look on his face, "but I hope we can both agree that I've been getting better at not letting it leave me feeling so...angry and depressed so often." At America's nod and slight smile he continued.

"You say you've felt like you do for awhile now. In all honesty I don't think I can say when I started feeling the same way about you. I don't want you to feel bad or anything, but I don't think it was more than...maybe...forty years? I don't really know... Though I can safely say it was probably at least starting during your Bicentennial. I was still sick, but I knew I wanted to at least be there long enough to give you my present."

America frowned at that. "So you _were_ using a crutch and coughing up blood? I thought so! You were trying to act so cool. You idiot, if you were still that sick, you could have waited or something to come over. You didn't need to do all of that when you were barely able to stand."

England smiled in amusement and a warm feeling of happiness at his obvious worry, even if it was coated in annoyance. "Don't make it sound like I was on my deathbed, you git. I may never be completely healthy around that time of year – I honestly don't quite know what causes it – but I've been getting better over the past few decades like I said. You needn't worry so much. Besides... I like to see you on one of your happiest days of the year. Your joy is rather infectious for that matter, you know, even if I'm not feeling one hundred percent at the time."

America blushed and felt a giddy sort of warmth settle in his chest. Maybe it _had_ been for the best that it took them this long to confess to each other. This was going _so _much better than he could ever remember hoping for, and England was even sharing so much with him already. He probably had a silly smile on his face, but he couldn't care less. "My Bicentennial... You have _no _idea how happy I was that you showed up like you did, not depressed or like you didn't really want to be there. I know you couldn't stick around for long – I just _knew_ you were still sick like you usually are for that week or so – but...that was probably one of my best birthday's ever."

England had his own blush and a silly little smile on his face now. "I can't say I've ever been much for birthday parties and the like, but I'll admit yours are usually...something else."

That made America wonder about something that had been bugging him for awhile but no one seemed to quite know the answer to. "Hey, England? When's _your_ birthday?"

England blinked at him vacantly before registering the question and looking away slightly. "Well..., I don't really have one. No 'old man' jokes! But...when you get to be as old as I am those kinds of things tend to lose most of their meaning. I don't really have a day I can claim as it anyway, though I suppose April 23 is the day most people seem to choose when asked. No one's really bothered to ask me in years though, so it doesn't really matter either way."

America's brow creased in displeasure that was fueled by confusion, and he flung one arm over the back of the couch as he leaned towards the other man. "Oh, come on, England! You _have_ to have a birthday! You can't just _not _want to celebrate it."

The elder blond's impressive eyebrows scrunched up a bit in a bemused look. "I've never really bothered with it, America. For most of my life I haven't had anyone to celebrate it with even if I _did_ choose a day, and even the few times when there _have_ been people who've cared enough, there were far more important things to do."

America lunged forward and grabbed England by the shoulders, a serious (too serious in England's opinion) expression on his face. "Well, that's gonna change! From now on we're celebrating your birthday every year, you hear me?" He leaned back and held up a fist in what England knew was one of his "hero poses." "We'll go with April 23 so we have plenty of time between our two birthdays to go full out on the celebrations!"

England wasn't so sure about this and was still confused about why America seemed so adamant about it; his birthday had never mattered to him, so why was America making such a big deal about it? "A-America... It's all right. I don't want some big extravaganza or something. It's not important."

The expression on America's face seemed to say otherwise (England couldn't quite place what it was a combination of but at least could make out the determination and frustration.). "No way! We're together now right?" and that earned him an amusing blush, "We're totally celebrating your birthday now. Every year. And..., okay, so we won't make it a big thing like mine if you want that, but we're still inviting people and having a great party. We need to make up for all of the lost years, even if you didn't ever feel like celebrating it before. I'll totally make you love being the one at the center of a birthday party!"

Knowing he wasn't going to win this one, England conceded...for now. "All right, all right... We'll have a little get together if that will make you happy." He ignored America's, "Your birthday party's supposed to make _you_ happy, _geeze_...," and relaxed back against the couch with his eyes closed.

A moment later America spoke up again, though he sounded hesitant, like he wasn't sure he should bring this up. "You...never even celebrated it with your siblings among the other UK countries? You've never really talked about your siblings back in the UK. You still don't."

England seemed almost reluctant to answer but did anyway. "I've never been close with my siblings. I spent most of my youth at war with them and dodging curses and poison- or fire-tipped weapons from them. Even now we can barely stand being in the same room. It's one of the reasons I was given the title for the entire United Kingdom, so they wouldn't have to come to meetings and such."

America looked shocked at the blunt answer and England's apparent nonchalance in giving it. "That...that's horrible, England! Not being able to get along with your own siblings. ... We...we got along...for awhile... You and I and even Canada could have celebrated it."

"If you mean as brothers, that's something else I've thought about often enough. ... Do you remember that time around when we first met and you asked if you could call me 'big brother' and I said to just call me 'England?'" He waited for America's nod to continue. "That was because of my own siblings. I didn't want us to have that sort of relationship. We were close – I don't know if I've been closer to anyone else like I was with you – but I never considered you family since I suppose I've always had a bit of a warped sense of the term compared to most. I'm still not sure if what we had could be given a name like if we were brothers or father and son or something of the sort. You were just always...my dear America.

"You were a breath of fresh air, especially compared to war-torn Europe, and someone who loved me so unconditionally I didn't know what to do, so I tried to do everything I could for you. I would have loved to have stayed with you on top of all of that, but we both know what is expected of a world power. I had obligations I had to see to elsewhere no matter how much I would have rather ignored them and remained with you. I did everything I could to make sure you never had to deal with what I did when I was younger though. It...hurt...indescribably so when we started to drift apart."

America's face pinched up in another mix of emotions, guilt and sadness being among the main ones. "All of the rules and taxes and restrictions you were forcing on my people and me didn't leave me much choice..."

England shook his head. "Whether you realize it or not, most of those were not from me. We both know what it's like to have a boss and government we don't agree with but have little say in the matter."

America _did_ know what that was like, but something about this still didn't sit right with him. It took him a moment to realize what it might be. "Why didn't you ever tell me it wasn't really you, or at least that a majority of it wasn't your idea? For the longest time I was so mad at you..."

England sighed in a tired sort of accepting way, like he had thought about something quite a bit but still wasn't quite sure about it. "Despite how much it hurt, I could see the growing rebellion and what was coming and knew I couldn't do anything to stop it. You were still so important to me though, even when you started to close yourself off to me, even when we stood across the battlefield from each other at Yorktown. I hated the situation we'd been forced into, but I never really hated _you_. I was hurting in more ways than one, but even then I couldn't shoot you. Towards the end I knew I was going to lose anyway, knew you were going to become your own country, so I just let you think what you want, do what you want, especially since I had every reason to think you hated me. You were going to have to find out on your own what it meant to be a country."

'_He never really hated me?_' The thought seemed...foreign, even with how much America wanted to believe it. He had just gone for so long believing England had hated him for his Revolution. "I..._did_ hate you for awhile. Or at least it felt like hate. The War of 1812 didn't really help either or that you sided with the South. Though now I have to wonder if that was you or just your boss and government and people were saying it was you... But..., if you didn't hate me..., why did you go out of your way to ignore me for so long? I don't think we had a civil conversation until...World War I?"

England played with the end of one sleeve as he thought about how to answer. "It was partially from the pain from losing you but mostly because I thought you hated me. Plus, as a small island, so much of what my people require, especially as time goes by, has to be imported, and with the loss of so much land, people, and resources after losing to you, my country, my people, had to turn elsewhere in order to find new ways to continue supporting ourselves, so I was dealing with that for a long while. Not to mention the various wars and other conflicts and such I had to deal with. I tried to personally stay out of matters dealing with you as much as possible. I still didn't have high hopes even when we became allies in the World Wars, especially with how conversations between us seemed to go most of the time, so I didn't think there much point in trying to change things. By that point how I acted had just become so much like habit anyway, that it eventually _did_ become habit, which took a long while to break, though even now I haven't broken away from that completely. Probably never will really..."

Feeling particularly overwhelmed now, one thought in particular still managed to stand out amongst all of the ones flooding America's mind. "So...because we were both stuck in the past and unable or unwilling to correct misunderstandings between us despite there still being feelings between us, romantic or otherwise, we had to let over two hundred years pass by before we did anything to make things right? And despite all of that we're still probably having one of the calmest, longest confession conversations ever? Maybe Canada was right. We really _are_ a couple of sentimental, sappy romantics."

England chuckled at that and reminded himself that he needed to talk to Canada later. "Maybe. We're both so stubborn though that it's not really all that surprising I suppose that it took so long for us to be able to move past some things. Of course I highly doubt it's going to be smooth sailing from here on though anyway. Our personalities clash a little too much to keep that from happening."

America laughed at the truth of that as he flipped himself around and rested his head in England's lap. It earned a surprised look from the older man, though it didn't last long, but no other kind of response like being pushed off, so he stayed put. "Well, I wouldn't want it to be completely smooth sailing anyway. That would be totally boring. We're good for each other as we are anyway. You can help keep me grounded, even though my ideas are awesome and more people should think so too," that earned a whack to the side of his head, "ow, okay, hahah, okay, but then I can also help you be more open. I know you're a private kind of person, England, probably because you haven't had many people you could trust over the years, but I hope you can come to trust me. If you can't necessarily be more open with other people, I hope you can be more open with me at least."

England felt it took more boldness than it should have to absently brush America's bangs out of his face. "All things considered...I don't think it will be that hard to. To both start being a little more open with you and to trust you, I mean. Though don't expect me to act different while we're out in public for awhile..."

A playful smile turned the corners of the young superpower's mouth up. "Call me selfish, but I don't mind that I can keep you to myself for at least a little while."

"Git." A playful smirk was cast America's way. "Now what was that about leading you around by a chain around your neck?"

The former empire received a slightly irritated but amused look for that. "Figures you zone in on my least favorite part of the song. Don't push your luck, England."

A playful laugh this time was the response before nothing but a peaceful quiet.

America just had to go and ruin it though by asking, "Now what was with you growing your hair out when you were younger and looking like a giant golden caterpillar?"

England smushed one of the couch cushions to America's face which muffled the younger man's laughter. "I will _kill_ France..."


	4. Chapter 4

An Epilogue of Sorts

* * *

><p>"So how do you think it went? Not that I want to know the details, but those two have been getting really annoying lately."<p>

Canada laughed lightly as he swirled the spoon in his sundae. "Well, I think, if today's meeting is anything to go by, they managed to talk it out last night. They both seemed in particularly good moods today, even if they _did_ fight a bit. They even teamed up to beat up France without any problems."

Cuba looked a little puzzled as he remembered that part. "Wasn't France the one to get your stupid brother to finally say something to England?"

Another spoonful of his dessert was finished before the Canadian answered with a knowing and amused smile on his face. "Yeah, so?"

Across from their booth in the bar in the conference center the meeting had been held at France sat with an ice pack held to one cheek still and a glass of wine in his other hand.

Germany, who was sitting a few barstools down from him with Italy sitting happily beside him and Prussia happily drinking and greatly amused at his French friend's current state on his other side, looked over at the injured blond and hesitated before asking, "You _did_ say something to America earlier this week, didn't you? Why did they beat you up so readily today then? Did it not go well?"

France made a displeased sound and didn't even bother with one of his more flamboyant waves of his hand or flips of his hair. "Yes, I _did_, and I think it's safe to say that even if the initial confession didn't go quite as planned that things still turned out well for them. But they're still _them_, so fights are only inevitable really, especially if _I'm_ the target it seems..."

By now they'd caught the attention of most of the other nations in the bar. Germany still didn't really understand. "If they confessed to each other and it went well, why did they still fight so much today?"

The battered Frenchman scoffed. "Oh, please. Like I said, I hardly doubt that will actually stop all that much, even now that they've told each other how they really feel. Just the mood will be a bit...different. They'll still argue – there's no getting past that with those two idiots – but now part of the reason they'll do it is for the make-up sex afterwards."

Germany cringed at the mental image. "They _just got together_. Surely that's not why they were arguing today. And even if that's true, why did you help them then if it's not going to make much, if any, difference? Why not just let them work it out themselves?"

France gave him a look like it was obvious. "Why for the sake of love of course!"

Nearly everyone groaned at the expected answer.

"And my sanity. ... And maybe they'll let me join them sometime." He had a pleased if rather dreamy expression on his face at the possibilities, though it was a bit ruined by the bruises and the ice pack still scrunching up one cheek.

The responses to that were equally as predictable.

* * *

><p>"No."<p>

"Come on, Englaaaand. This'll be fun, and you know it!"

"Absolutely not."

"You said you would."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did! Right after we-"

"Belt up!"

"Boooooo..." He puffed out his cheeks in annoyance before thinking of something and turning away a little, though he kept England in his eyesight. "You make fun of my voice, but I _know_ you have a really good singing voice, so it's not like you're gonna suck or anything."

England paused in his potential tirade and just stared at America while a light blush started taking over his cheeks, more from not-wholly-unwanted embarrassment at the round-about compliment than anger or anything else. He coughed into his fist and looked away. "W-well..., that is...I mean..."

America grinned at him and slapped him on the back, nearly making the poor Englishman faceplant the floor. "Come on! This'll be totally awesome and fun!"

* * *

><p>Saturday night a medium-sized gathering of nations met in a small bar the host of the current conference had given them directions to. None of them were really sure <em>why <em>he had, but apparently America agreeing to pay for whatever they ordered left them not bothering to ask.

One of the waiters brought up a second microphone to set up next to the one already on the stage and tapped it to test it, which gained most people's attention before he even spoke into it. "We have one of our regulars here tonight, folks, and he brought along a friend. Let's have a round of applause for Alfred F. Jones and Arthur Kirkland!"

The lights dimmed as most of the humans in the room clapped, some even whistling. Some of the nations joined them though some a little more hesitantly. None of them quite knew what to expect if those two were going to perform in some way.

America and England – England still looking a little hesitant, especially now that he knew so many of their fellow countries were in the audience – came out on the stage, each taking up a microphone. The younger blond was the first to speak. "Hey, everybody! I know some of you know me, but I'd like to introduce my partner here–" that earned some knowing chuckles from some of the nations and a blush from England, though he knew America had meant that in a singing context, "– Arthur! He's from London, land of rain, fog, tea, and scones that look like charcoal–" _that_ earned him a smack from the Englishman and several laughs from the audience. "Hahah, anyway, the song we're going to sing I found fitting since it was about our two countries, so...sit back, relax, and enjoy!"

The lights dimmed a bit further as guitars started playing over the speakers, drums joining in shortly.

America took the first line, singing with his usual grin on his face, already into the song. "At the first sign of the morning light Old Glory's in the sky."

England was beginning to calm down and just decided to go with it. "Across the pond it's afternoon and the Union Jack flies high."

"We're on our first cup of coffee."

"We're on our third cup of tea."

"And we can't pretend to live on different planets, you and me."

The chorus they sung together, both already into the song so much they'd forgotten about their audience. "In this collision of worlds,

"Watch the new day dawn on a distant shore.

"In this collision of worlds,

"Oh, you can't sit this out no more."

England started back up the back-and-forth, more singing to America than anything. "Abbey Road."

America was smiling right back at him now that they were both into it and didn't take his eyes off of him. "Route 66. CIA."

"To the MI6."

"Right lane."

"Left lane. Metric."

"Imperial."

"Pounds."

"Dollars. Howdy."

"Cheerio!"

"A v8 growls."

"To a v12 screams."

"Hail to the Chief."

"Well, God Save the Queen."

"Cops."

"Bobbies."

"Tabasco."

"Wasabi."

"Pistachio ice cream!"

They sung the chorus together again. "In this collision of worlds,

"Well, it's too late and you can't stop it now.

"In this collision of worlds,

"Yeah, find you a place and just watch it now!"

Their audience, whether the two realized it or not, were quite into their performance, enough to have fully stopped whatever they were doing to watch. The nations gathered were all – to varying degrees – impressed and surprised, especially by England now that he'd gotten over his apparent initial embarrassment.

America started after the chorus. "Well, you're a good ol' boy."

"Well, you're a decent bloke. I say it's irony."

"I say it's a joke. When I look around, now I can see."

They sang together again for this line before America started again. "We ain't so different, you and me."

"Meat and potatoes."

"Bangers and mash."

"Dollars."

"Pounds. Dosh."

"Cash."

"Autobahn."

"To the rising sun. The I10."

"To the M1."

"Congress."

"Parliment."

"President."

"The Queen! Petrol. You say-"

"-gasoline."

A shared knowing smile. "Now grab your bird."

"And get your girl."

And they sang together again and for the rest of the song. "Now it's a small world.

"Collision of worlds.

"Watch the new day dawn on a distant shore.

"In this collision of worlds.

"No, you can't sit this out no more.

"It's a collision of worlds.

"It's too late and you can't stop it now.

"Collision of worlds.

"Find you a place and watch it now."

As the song came to an end the whole bar whistled and applauded, some even giving standing ovations, while England and America stood on the stage smiling and blushing but waving and saying thanks before bowing and heading backstage to take a moment to rest.

When they came back out it was to more applause and cat-calling which they both took in stride. The rest of the night was spent enjoying good food, drinks, and company.

* * *

><p>While getting ready for bed later that night England was wondering what was taking America so long and decided to just ask outright.<p>

Shuffling sounds came from the adjoining bathroom as the younger man seemed to be messing around with something. "I'll be out in a minute. Just give me a sec."

England smirked and made himself more comfortable on the bed. "A minute is made up of sixty of them. I'd have to give you more than just one."

"Hah hah. Your sarcastic whit is as impressive as ever. I'm almost done." About half of a minute later America stepped out. "Well?"

A blush became rather noticeable on the Englishman's cheeks as he took in the familiar waiter outfit from that April Fool's Day fiasco courtesy of France and Spain, bear ears and tail included. "Um..."

While America was amused by the blush that wasn't the reaction he'd been hoping for. "Well, I said I wanted to be your teddy bear, right? Well..., wait a sec." He ran back into the bathroom.

England's flustered mind registered that. "W-wait. What are you–?"

America came back out about a minute later. "Is this better?" He held out his arms that were now encased as was most of the rest of him in a pink and blue pajama-hoodie combination that had distinct bear ears with stars on them.

The first thought to rise up in England's head was, '_So cute!'_ which apparently he'd said out loud if the grin on America's face that was obviously trying to hold back laughter was any indication.

The younger man came over to the bed and flopped down beside England, pulling the other man close and cuddling with him. That silly smile was still on his face, and there was obvious laughter in his tone. "I take it that's a 'yes?'"

England froze for a quick moment but relaxed and settled into the embrace. "Yes, but... Don't get rid of the other outfit."

America laughed outright then and held England just a little tighter. "Okay, you old pervert." He laughed at the half-hearted smack that earned.

Something seemed to click in England's mind then. "Wait... The other outfit... ... What picture did France show you that gave you the inspiration for all of this?"

America wasn't quite sure he liked the monotone that had been asked in, so he hugged England closer to him and tried to change the subject. "Does it matter? We're here, together. The bed's really comfy. I like having you here with me like this..."

England blushed and bent forwards a little more towards America. It was a little while before he mumbled, "I'll kill France later for finding and keeping that picture..."

America chuckled and settled more into the pillows. Before long he couldn't help but start humming and quietly singing:

"Baby, let me be around you every night.

Run your fingers through my hair,

And cuddle me real tight.

Oh, let me be

Your teddy bear."

* * *

><p>Going into <em>Cars 2 <em>last year, I knew that I wouldn't be able to help but laugh at anything that ended up relating to Hetalia since it was centered mostly in Japan, Italy, and England, but I wasn't expecting one of the songs to be basically all about America and England ( on YouTube here: /watch?v=lETI7XgGBBc ). I wanted to use it somewhere (though typing it out like this was a pain).


End file.
